


Bond Behind Bars

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [62]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M is a BAMF, Mission Fic, Older Woman/Younger Man, Overseas Mission, Panty Removal Recommended..., Prison, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An overseas mission goes wrong, leaving Bond to await M's rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bond Behind Bars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts), [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by [this photo](http://pers-books.tumblr.com/post/76305530075/every-time-i-see-this-photo-i-want-to-write-fic) and the comments I made about it on Tumblr.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, or this would be real.  
>  **Spoilers:** None. (Set between QoS and Skyfall)

She's going to kill him, M decides angrily when she reads the message that's come in from Station Co. She's going to save every villain the effort and kill James Bond herself, with her bare hands. How, she wonders and not for the first time, can he so foolish and careless?

Picking up the phone she asks Tanner to organise a flight to Colombia to leave within the next couple of hours, then she makes a list of people for Tanner to contact to reschedule her meetings while she's gone. She then gets her driver to take her home so that she can pick up her passport and pack a bag to take with her, before she rings Tanner to see if he's got her flight details.

Within the hour she's aboard a private jet and en route to Colombia, and she settles into her seat, then takes out her tablet computer and sends an email to the head of Station Co to let her know that she's on the way to handle matters herself. Once that's done, she reviews the files relating to Bond's mission, even as she wonders how he could have messed it up so badly as to end up in prison.

007-007-007

Bond is slouched across the end of the bed in his cell, one booted foot resting on the bed, so that the chain that runs from his ankle to a ring in the wall hangs loosely. As he stares idly at the sunshine coming through the barred window he wonders if Saunders has contacted London yet, and just how angry M is going to be when she hears the news that instead of quietly carrying out their carefully planned covert operation, the whole thing has blown up in his face, leaving the operation in a shambles, and him in a prison cell. 

His thoughts are tinged with bitterness as he considers what has happened, and just how much blame he is going to get, even though he did nothing wrong, not this time. 

Footsteps approach his cell door and he looks around, then feels his stomach clench at the same time as a surge of arousal shoots into his groin: M is standing on the other side of the bars, immaculately tailored, as always, and sparks of anger in her blue eyes. She stares silently at him, her luscious lips compressed into a thin line, and he stares back defiantly, even though he knows that such an attitude will only make her angrier. The trouble is, Bond finds her sexy when she's angry, sexier he corrects himself with an amused smirk, which serves to intensify the angry glare she's giving him.

She gives the guard who's escorting her a curt nod, and he steps forward, unlocks the door, then comes into the cell and unlocks the padlock on the ankle cuff he wears.

Bond gets to his feet and stretches, his eyes locked on M's; he's surprised she hasn't begun shouting yet, and wonders if she's going to give him the silent treatment all the way back to London – somehow, he doubts it.

She turns towards the guard and thanks him courteously, then turns to look at Bond. "Come along, 007." Her tone is that of a woman to an annoying puppy, and it piques his pride and anger, but he keeps his mouth shut, for now.

007-007-007

M is barely holding her anger in check as she leads the way out of the goal and into the blazing sunshine outside; it's only the fact that Bond hasn't said anything yet that's kept her from tearing him off a strip, and she wonders if he'll have the wisdom to keep his mouth shut. Somehow she doubts it.

M crosses the courtyard at the back of goal, then climbs into the backseat of the car Saunders has loaned her for the duration of her visit. Bond climbs in next to her and she wrinkles her nose a little at the scent of sweat, prison, and other things which he carries on his person. Thankfully the air-conditioning helps somewhat, but she fully intends for him to shower before she debriefs him.

The driver takes them swiftly across the city to the safe house which Saunders has put at her disposal. She'd intended to stay in a hotel, but he'd immediately suggested the safe house was a better option as there was a good chance several people would be searching assiduously for Bond, especially once the news got out that he'd been sprung from goal.

The field agent whom Saunders had assigned to her as a driver would also double as her bodyguard; M would have objected that she didn't need a bodyguard, but knew that if word got around that the head of the SIS had been the one to get Bond out of his cell, then she'd be on someone's hit list, just like 007 himself.

The sun was sinking towards the horizon as the car turned into a gateway and went down a gravelled drive to stop outside a house; standing in its own grounds out in the suburbs, the place was not very modest in size, but that didn't matter since its location made it ideal for its purpose. 

"Thank you, Martin." M gave the man a nod as he opened her door and waited for her to get out of the car. Despite the heat, she was glad to be outside; the atmosphere in the car during the drive had been seething with unspoken anger.

"Ma'am. Mr Saunders asked me to tell you that he's had the top floor suite readied for the use of yourself and Mr Bond. I'll be in the surveillance suite, on the ground floor, to the left of the front door. There are four other agents here, and they will be patrolling the grounds while you're resident."

"Thank you." M leads the way to the front door, which a dark-skinned young woman opens from inside; she gives the field agent a nod, then continues, heading across the spacious hall and up the three flights of stairs to the top floor. Bond is behind her, and she notes that he sounds slightly winded by the time they reach the suite of rooms Saunders has prepared; she wonders if he's hurt – Saunders didn't mention it either when he reported Bond's arrest, or when she saw him earlier before she went to get 007 released from custody, but she wouldn't put it past Bond to have kept it quiet.

007-007-007

As they cross the threshold of the suite of rooms, Bond wonders whether M will allow him to shower and change first before she debriefs him, then he wonders if there are any clothes for him to change into. When he left his dingy room yesterday morning, he hadn't taken anything with him except the essentials to get through the day, so he presumes his gear's where he left it, or has been stolen in the interim. He'd been astonished that his phone had been returned to him before he left goal this afternoon – he hadn't expected to see it again, and he can't help wondering if the password and encryption on it has been enough to prevent anyone from accessing it.

"Why don't you go and have a shower," M suggests, and Bond wonders if he's imagining a slight softening of her manner. "I need to make some phone calls, and find out what we're doing about food. Then we'll talk."

"Ma'am." He was definitely imagining things, he decides, because her tone has an edge of menace on the last three words.

"Your things are in your room," she tells him, and gestures across the sitting room in which they stand to a door in the far wall. 

He nods, and crosses the room. Opening the door he finds a large, airy bedroom with a double bed dominating it, and a door that's ajar to give him a glimpse of an ensuite bathroom. His kitbag is on the floor beside the bed, and he bends to scoop it up with a slight wince for his aching ribs, then pulls out his clothing and sorts out clean jeans, t-shirt, and underwear. Sitting on the bed, he unlaces the heavy boots he's been wearing as part of his undercover persona, then tugs them off. He strips rapidly, then moves into the bathroom and turns on the shower. As he waits for it to run hot, he examines himself in the mirror – the bruises look pretty spectacular, but since nothing's broken, he's not going to worry about them, and hopefully the hot shower will ease the ache in his ribs. 

007-007-007

When Bond emerges from his room, M is relieved to see he looks healthier than when she collected him from the goal, not that she lets him see that relief. She sits on the arm of the large leather sofa and stares at him, her arms folded across her chest and asks, "Why is it, 007, that you cannot carry out a single mission without leaving a trail of damage in your wake? You were specifically instructed not to draw any attention to yourself during this mission because we wanted the operation carried out with the minimum amount of fuss. Hanson's fate was intended to be a stark warning to others of his kind not to mess with us otherwise they would meet the same fate, but we didn't want to attract the notice of the government and force them into a corner. Instead of which you get into an extremely public fight, a brawl in actual fact, with the target, and thereby draw the attention of all and sundry. Not only that, but you then get yourself arrested while Hanson protests loudly about you having picked the fight, meaning if Hanson turns up dead any time soon, you will automatically be suspected of causing his death."

"I didn't start that fight," Bond says; he's leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets and a sullen expression on his face.

"A dozen witnesses say otherwise," she retorts angrily.

"They're lying."

"Why should they lie about it?" she demands, her voice rising.

"To protect themselves and Hanson," he snaps. "They knew I was coming, M. Your covert mission was fucked from the outset."

"Mind your language, 007!"

He pushes himself away from the wall and stalks over to her, looming over her, and she leans back a little, although it makes her uncomfortable, physically and psychologically, to do so. "Never mind my bloody language," he snarls. "Are you even listening to me? They knew I was coming. Which means that we've got a fucking mole."

M surges to her feet, but Bond doesn't step back. She slaps him, and he grabs her hand, then he brings his free hand up and she thinks he's going to slap her back, but instead he grabs the back of her head and kisses her.

She's startled into a gasp, and his tongue slips easily into her mouth; she's dimly aware that he's let go of her wrist so that he can put his left hand to the small of her back, and he presses her body against his. She can feel how hard his cock is, even through the thickness of his jeans and she can't help moaning as a surge of arousal rushes through her body, straight to her crotch. Bond is kissing her wildly, nipping at her lower lip and thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and M feels her legs starting to tremble.

"You are so fucking sexy when you're angry," he tells her, panting with his hunger for her. He slips his hand under her skirt and begins to stroke her pussy lips through her knickers, and she moans again at his sure touch. 

He pulls his hand out, and she can't help whimpering at the loss of contact; he shushes her, then sucks hard on his first two fingers and laves them with his tongue, before putting his hand back under her skirt. He pushes aside the material which is growing damp despite her age, and eases a wet finger into her pussy. Her muscles immediately clench around the intruding digit, and he asks breathlessly, "Are you going to come for me, Olivia?" 

"Christ!" She can utter nothing more as he fingerfucks her relentlessly to the most explosive orgasm she's had in some time.

"That's it, that's my girl," he whispers, his breath hot on her ear as he strokes her through the aftershocks.

007-007-007

James Bond is in awe: he's wanted to fuck M for some time – as he'd told her before, she's very sexy when she's angry (and even when she's not) – but he's never dared to hope he would get the chance. He never expected to finger her to orgasm in the space of five minutes, but now he has, he wants to fuck her so badly. 

He eases his hand free and looks down into M's face; her eyes are slightly glazed and her cheeks flushed, and she looks completely luscious. He scoops her up and carries her across the room into her bedroom.

"James, put me down," she says, but it's a half-hearted protest, as they both know. 

He lowers her onto the bed, then hesitates, suddenly wondering if she'll let him fuck her. To his relief she utters a very imperious, "Come here", and he smirks, then sheds his jeans. He sees her eyes widen when she realises he's not wearing underpants, and she licks her lips at the sight of his very erect cock.

"You'll need some lubricant," she tells him, and when he lifts an eyebrow enquiringly, she elaborates, "Older women need some help – we're more dry than the young women you usually fuck."

"I'll be right back," he tells her, and heads back to his room, grateful that he does carry lube with him.

When he returns, M's settled herself on the bed propped against the pillows, and her shoes are on the floor. He pulls his t-shirt and socks off, then climbs up onto the bed beside her, dropping the lube down between them. He reaches for the buttons on her blouse and she clasps his wrists, her eyes wide with what, after a moment, he realises is anxiety.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly.

"Nothing. It's just – " She pauses, biting her lip, and he suddenly clicks.

"M, I know you're not a young woman any longer, but your body is nothing to be ashamed of. I love the lines on your face, and I don't mind that your breasts aren't as firm as they were. I want you – Olivia – I want you so much."

He makes no attempt to hide his feelings, wanting her to know how much he desires her, and hoping that she could hear his sincerity. 

She moves her hands away and he leans in to kiss her deeply as he unbuttons her blouse and pulls the edges open. She gasps when his hands cup her breasts and he thumbs her already stiff nipples. He feels awe, again, that large as his hands are, he cannot fully cup her breasts, and he decides, there and then, that he wants to fuck her tits before he's too much older. The thought reminds him of how hard he is, how heavy his cock and balls feel, and he concentrates on getting Olivia out of her clothes. 

Once she is naked, he can't help pausing for a moment to gaze down at her body. "You look luscious," he tells her. "Like a deliciously ripe fruit."

Her eyebrows go up and she smirks. "I never knew you were inclined to poetry, James."

He feels his face heating up and ducks his head to kiss a nipple, before taking it into his mouth and suckling greedily. As he lavishes attention on her breasts, he opens the bottle of lube and applies some to his aching cock, then slips a well-lubricated finger into her pussy. She moans, clutching at his head, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Oh fuck! Please James!"

He leaves her breast to kiss her quick and hard on the mouth. "I've wanted to do this for so long," he tells her, then begins to guide his cock into her.

007-007-007

As James guides his cock into her aching pussy, M clutches at the bedding, and remembers that she was furious with him earlier. She supposes she ought to be furious with him now, too – his behaviour is insubordinate, but he's already given her one fantastic orgasm, and she's sure he'll give her another shortly. It's reprehensible of her, she knows, but she's prepared to forgive him the ruination of their operation if he's going to fuck her. And she has to be honest – she's wanted to fuck him for a long time, but she'd always told herself that it would lead to him ignoring her orders and generally taking advantage of her. At this moment, however, such things don't matter.

James leans over her, his weight on his elbows, and his cock buried deep within her, and she lifts her hands to grasp the sides of his head and kisses him hard. That seems to be some sort of signal because he begins to thrust, softly at first, then harder and faster, and she remembers that he hasn't come yet. It isn't long before her body is lifting to meet his as she matches his thrusts, and only a short time after that when she feels her muscles clenching around his cock as she comes with a muted cry. James manages a few more thrusts, before he empties himself into her, and she pulls his body down onto hers, nuzzling the side of his neck as his ragged breathing begins to settle back to normal.

"Are you all right?" he asks softly, turning his head to meet her mouth with his own, the gentleness of his kiss surprising her.

"My dear boy, I feel wonderful," she assures him, and he smirks, which is hardly unexpected she supposes. 

"Good." He slides his arms under her, and rolls them both over.

"Tell me about the mole you think we've got," she suggests, and when his eyebrows lift, she elaborates, "I presumed you were serious when you made that suggestion, rather than just trying to pass the buck."

"I was serious," he tells her. "Hanson not only knew I was coming, he knew who I was – so someone must have squealed to him."

M scowls. "Any ideas about who the mole might be?"

"I'm nearly 100% certain it's not Saunders – if it was, he wouldn't have bothered to tell you that I was incarcerated. So it must be someone in his office."

"Which could include any one of the five agents here with us this evening," M points out.

He nods. "If I'd known you'd be coming here, rather than going to a hotel, I'd have said something, but not knowing the plans you and Saunders had made – " He leaves the sentence hanging.

"Damn." 

"We'll just have to figure out a way to draw them out of hiding," he says.

"Yes. I don't want to return to London without being certain that Saunders doesn't still have a mole in his office." She lowers her head to his chest and he kisses the top of her head. "All those bruises – " she begins, but he cuts her off,

"They're just bruises," he tells her firmly. "They'll heal." He had hoped she wouldn't comment on them, although he should have known she would once he was naked. 

"We should get dressed and get something to eat," she says, and his stomach gurgles, as if in agreement, which elicits a chuckle. 

He's astonished, not only that she's chuckling, but that it sounds so sexy; it sends a jolt of desire straight to his cock and she shifts against him as it begins to grow erect again. She lifts her head and gives him a very knowing look and he rolls them back over so she's beneath him again. 

"Oh really, James," she protests, but he knows her heart's not in it, and when he lowers his head to suck on a nipple she moans and her body bucks beneath him.

007-007-007

After dinner, and further sex, Bond leaves M sleeping in her bed; he scoops up his clothing and carries it into the sitting room, where he dresses rapidly, then he ducks into his room to grab his gun and a couple of other items from Q-branch. He pulls on a denim jacket, then pockets his equipment before stealthily making his way downstairs and across to the door of the surveillance suite. He eases it gently open and sees that Martin and the dark-skinned young woman who'd let them in earlier are huddled over one of the monitors in the room. He closes the door again and steps away to consider his options. If it had just been Martin in there, he'd have simply knocked him out, but the odds are against him when there are two of them – he can't take both of them by surprise. Slipping away from the door, he makes his way towards the back of the house until his nose tells him whereabouts to find the kitchen. 

It's deserted, so Bond makes two mugs of coffee and doctors them both with a dose of sleeping draught, then he takes them to the surveillance suite. To his relief both agents are still there.

"Martin I brought – Oh, hello. Sorry, I'm not interrupting am I?" he asks as they both swivel their chairs around and look up.

"Not at all," Martin says, and Bond senses he's sincere.

"I thought I'd bring you some coffee," he tells Martin. He passes one of the mugs across, then offers the second to the young woman. "Here. I can make myself another."

"Are you sure?" she asks, and Bond nods.

"I only came down to see if Martin and you others had seen anyone sniffing about out there," he explains.

"Not so far," Martin says.

"Good. Hopefully that means I'll actually be able to sleep tonight." He grimaces, genuinely as it happens since the goal hadn't been particularly quiet, even at night. 

"Don't worry, Mr Bond, we've got your back," the young woman tells him, her expression earnest. 

He nods, feeling a slight twinge of guilt about the fact that he's drugged them both, but not enough of a twinge to stop them both from finishing their coffee as they talk shop. He lets himself out of the surveillance room ten minutes later, blessing Major Boothroyd for the efficacy of his sleeping draughts. He's taken Martin's car keys and he starts the car up, grateful for its quiet engine, then heads down the drive and back out onto the road into town. He's determined to do the job he came to do, and also to flush out Saunders' mole, so that he and M can get back to London promptly. 

As he drives, he wonders if the sex with M is a one-off, or whether she'll continue the relationship once they get back to London. He knows full well that it would be risky for them to continue, given she's his superior, but he wants more. It rather embarrasses him to realise just how much he wants this intimate relationship with her, but just because he's discomfited, it doesn't mean he's going to pretend otherwise.

He glances in the rear-view mirror, but there's no one following him. He wonders if anyone knows he's slipped out of the safe house yet – and just how mad M's going to be when she finds out that he's snuck away, then he dismisses the thought as he heads towards Hanson's hideout. He's done with being sneaky – since Hanson knows who he is, Bond has decided to try the direct approach instead – it'll save him time.

007-007-007

Bond parks at a distance from Hanson's hideout, which is an old warehouse that's grown rather dilapidated; he sits in the car for half an hour, keeping a close eye on both the warehouse and its surroundings, but no one is stirring. That doesn't mean no one is watching, of course, but after half an hour, Bond lets himself out of the car and walks slowly to the warehouse, scanning his immediate environs for any sign of movement. There is none, nor can he see any surveillance cameras guarding the building, but the fact that he can't see them doesn't mean they're not there.

There's a rusting chain link fence around the plot of land on which the warehouse stands, and a gate sagging open; he frowns at both as he passes within, wondering at the lack of security the fence and gate seem to represent. He looks around slowly and carefully, but he's not getting the back-of-the-neck prickle he usually feels when he senses he's being watched. He frowns and gives his head a slight shake, then crosses towards the warehouse and begins walking around its perimeter. Bond checks for doors, of which he can only see two, and windows, of which there are several, but they're all very high up in the walls, below the roofline. He tries the door at the back of the building, since it's out of sight of the street, and finds it locked, as he'd expected. He leans his right shoulder against the wall and lifts his left foot so that his ankle rests against his right knee. He slides open the heel compartment in his boot and removes his lock picks, then closes the compartment again.

It only takes him a few moments to unlock the door, then he slips inside, opening it no further than is necessary for him to eel through. Pocketing the lock picks, he soundlessly closes the door then stands with his back to it, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light within the warehouse. As he lingers, he catches a faint sound, a susurration of voices at some distance from his position by the door. He blinks a few times, then he begins to walk forward, his steps soft and light despite his heavy boots.

When he's close enough to pick out three individual voices talking in low tones, he stops and strains forward, listening with all his might. After about ten minutes Bond has picked out Hanson's voice, but he cannot identify the other two, and he's wondering whether to risk moving closer when Hanson's voice becomes clearer as he raises it in an angry response to one of the others.

"And I say you're a gutless coward, Stranks," he says. "Just because MI fucking 6 sent out their boy wonder to take me down, doesn't mean we have to start panicking and running around like blue arsed flies. We nailed Bond once, and there's nothing to stop us nailing him again, and taking that old bitch out too."

Bond felt a chill slither down his spine at Hanson's threat to M, and decided there and then that Hanson wouldn't see the next dawn.

"But boss," protested someone whom Bond presumed was Stranks, "the locals know he's here, and if he winds up dead, especially so soon after you and he got into a fight, they'll immediately assume you were behind it."

"Don't you worry your little head about that, Stranks," Hanson said confidently. "We've got the locals sorted thanks to Eric – he'll make sure Saunders' attention is redirected elsewhere."

 _Well, well,_ Bond thinks with malicious pleasure, _tonight hasn't been a total waste of time, now I know the name of the mole._ He fishes out his phone and rapidly sends a brief text message to both M and Tanner to let them know – just in case anything happens to him tonight that leaves him incapable of passing the message on in person.

Pocketing his phone again, he moves slightly closer to the spot from where the voices are coming, and then sees the three men seated on folding chairs around an upturned packing crate. Bond stands very still, not wanting to draw their attention before he's decided how to deal with them, and continues to listen as Hanson details the plan for his next shipment to Britain. He's been sending arms and drugs into Britain secreted inside the baggage of children, mostly girls, whom everyone had believed to be orphans escaping from their miserable lives on the streets of Columbia. It was only thanks to the courage of one thirteen year old girl who discovered the secret compartment beneath the false bottom in her bag and dared to tell someone, that the authorities had found out. They suspected that Hanson had been sending his orphans to other European countries as well, but enquiries were still ongoing.

When M had found out, she'd gone ballistic – and Bond had discovered that she had been giving him an easy time when she'd lost her temper with him in the past. He knew that was why she'd been so angry with him when she thought he'd blown their operation.

He backs away from the spot where the three men sit and talk, and moves further into the shadows; prowling around the walls, he soon discovers there are a number of packing cases scattered around – some contain only straw, others are half full of arms or slim packages which, on investigation, Bond discovers contain small bags of drugs. 

It's the sight of the straw that gives him the idea of how to deal with Hanson and his cronies, not to mention his dirty trade, and bring it to an end. He zips up the front of his denim jacket, then begins stuffing double handfuls of the straw down inside the jacket, ignoring its prickling through his t-shirt. He then makes his way to the door at the front of the building and empties the straw onto the ground. He slips off his jacket, then sacrifices his t-shirt and tears it quickly into two. He stretches one piece of the t-shirt along the gap at the bottom of the door, soaks it in lighter fluid, then spreads the straw across the top of it, before carefully inserting the end of a length of slow burning fuse wire within the straw. He lights the fuse wire, blessing Q for supplying that in his secret heel compartment, then hurries back to the crates and gathers more straw which he again stuffs down the inside of his jacket once he's put it back on. He drops lit matches into several of the packing cases containing ammunition, then swiftly makes his way to the back door and lets himself out. He sets the other half of his t-shirt down, soaks that in lighter fuel, then spreads the remaining straw on top, before dropping another lit match onto it. Then he leaves the warehouse and returns to his car at a brisk walk; he takes off his denim jacket long enough to shake it in case any straw remains inside, and brushes his bare chest to ensure that's clean too, then he climbs into the borrowed car and waits.

It's not long before both doors, which he can just see from his vantage point, are alight, and then the ammunition begins exploding. Bond keeps a close watch on the warehouse, but there's no sign of life until the shouting begins. He finds it quite easy to ignore the cries for help, and the screams from one of the men whom he assumes had tried to open one of the blazing doors.

The fire's been going for about twenty minutes when the first fire engine arrives, and Bond deems it prudent to withdraw before anyone spots him. He drives back to the safe house in a cheerful frame of mind, and hopes that M will be pleased with his efforts tonight.

007-007-007

M wakes before dawn, and goes to use the bathroom, and it's only when she returns to her bed that she registers that James is no longer there. Feeling rather miffed, she pulls on her robe, then pads through the sitting room to his room – which is also empty. She frowns, noting the absence of his denim jacket, then curses softly.

"Damn you, Bond, what are you playing at?" she demands fruitlessly as she stalks back through the suite to her room. She dresses swiftly, banging things about and cursing under her breath. "If you've gone and got yourself killed, I'll kill you myself," she vows, before registering the illogical nature of such a promise.

Her gaze falls on her phone and she snatches it up to see a text message has arrived. She remembers that she'd set the phone to silent last night, and she jabs the message envelope savagely. It flashes up a brief text from Bond: _Saunders' mole is Eric. Back soon. 007_ She doesn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved, then decides she's both: annoyed that he snuck out on her with so much as a note, and relieved that he has found out the name of the mole, at least.

M makes her way downstairs to the kitchen where she gets some coffee going. She's just about to pour herself a mug when Martin comes rushing in, with one of the other agents close on his heels.

"We've got a security breach," he tells her breathlessly. "Someone drugged us, and stole my car. I need to – "

"You need to calm down," M says firmly. "Bond drugged you and took your car."

"What?" exclaims the dark-skinned young woman. Eve, her name was, M remembers suddenly.

"007 went to deal with Hanson," she elaborates. "He texted me to tell me the name of – Never mind." She cuts herself off abruptly, recalling that she and Bond don't know that Eric doesn't have an accomplice within Station Co, and also that she has yet to tell Saunders that he has a mole.

"How long have you known?" demands Martin, then flinches when she gives him a cold look.

"I shall need to make a telephone call later – on a secure line. I presume there is such a thing here?"

"Yes, ma'am. In the surveillance room."

"Good." M puts her mug of coffee onto a tray, adds a second mug and the pot of coffee, then carries it out of the kitchen. She is aware of Martin's embarrassment, and Eve's amusement at her colleague's discomfiture, but she ignores them both. All that interests her now is seeing Bond and finding out just what he's been up to while he's been absent.

# # # #

It's six in the morning when Bond drives up to the safe house, to be met by an incensed Martin, and his discreetly amused colleague, whose name Bond still doesn't know. He deflects Martin's questions by the simple expedient of tossing him his car keys, knowing that the other man will want to go over his car with a fine-tooth comb now it's been returned.

The young woman follows him inside and asks softly, "Did you get him?"

When Bond raises an eyebrow, she adds, "M told Martin and I earlier that you'd gone after Hanson, that that was why you'd drugged us and taken Martin's car." 

"I need to make my report to M," he tells her, and she gives him a resigned nod.

He takes the stairs two at a time, wondering how long M's been aware that he's been absent, and how angry she is. He's not too worried about her anger, though – he's sure that once he gives her his news, she'll forgive him fairly quickly.

He opens the door to the suite and immediately spots her sitting over by the window. He closes the door behind him, then turns back to her and crosses the room slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He can feel his cock hardening in response to the sparkle of anger in her eyes, and remembers the night before with a sudden surge of arousal.

"Good morning, Olivia." He keeps his tone casual as he stops beside the armchair in which she's ensconced.

She glares up at him. "Report, 007." 

He fights to keep a smirk from his face: her tone is as crisp as it usually is when he's done something to piss her off, but he catches a glimpse of desire in her blue eyes when she registers there's no t-shirt beneath his denim jacket.

He stands before her, his cock feeling hot and swollen inside his jeans, as he makes his report. He wants to pull her up out of the chair and kiss her senseless before bending her over the chair arm and fucking her hard.

When he's finished, she says, "I am pleased that you dealt with Hanson, 007. But I am very annoyed with you for going off without leaving a note. You knew it was likely that Hanson or his men would be after you, but you still went off without any back-up, and without telling me where to start looking for you if you didn't return. Quite frankly I'm getting tired of – " 

She doesn't get to finish the sentence because Bond's mouth has captured her own in a hard kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time he releases her again.

"So I've been a bad boy," he says in a low voice. "Why don't you punish me for it? Spank me or tie me up or something."

"Fuck me, first," she tells him, and he can't help thinking it's the best order she's ever given him. 

He tugs her upright, then turns her around; after lifting her skirt to slide her knickers down, he frees his cock from the tight confines of his jeans, then liberally applies some lube. He bends her over the arm of the chair, then cups her pussy in his hand; as he slips his second finger inside her he finds that she's already a little wet, and the knowledge turns him on even more. 

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he tells her, his breath tickling her ear as he leans over her. She groans, and that's enough to make him grasp her hips and slide his slick length inside her. He shifts his grip from her hips to her tits, fumbling her blouse open and squeezing those wonderful mounds of flesh in both hands as he withdraws his cock, then thrusts back inside her.

"Again," she says, her tone commanding, and it's his turn to groan as he obeys, thrusting deep and hard inside her, her nipples stiff against his palms.

It doesn't take very long to send her over the edge, and it only requires a few more thrusts before he follows her, his cock pulsing madly.

"Christ." The word is a soft exclamation of both pleasure and tiredness as he tries not to collapse on top of her.

"James?"

"Mmm?"

"Let's go back to bed."

He chuckles. "Very well." He slowly lifts his body away from hers, then she leads him across the sitting room to his bedroom.

"Why here?" he asks, feeling rather dazed.

"So that both beds appear to have been slept in, of course," she says tartly.

He smirks. "Of course." He sweeps the bedding back, then tumbles her onto the bed, eliciting a protest from her that turns into a chuckle when he swiftly sheds his clothes and nearly falls over as he tries to free his leg from his jeans.

He growls at her, then strips her of her skirt, blouse, and bra. Her knickers are still in the sitting room where he dropped them just a short time ago. Her stockings he leaves on as they're such a turn on for him.

"Well, ma'am?" he asks. "Weren't you going to punish me for sneaking off?"

"Mmm. Perhaps your punishment should be no more fucking until I say so?" she suggests, then laughs when he scowls.

"You wouldn't," he asserts, then asks, "Would you?"

"I might. It'd serve you right if I did refuse you."

There's a spark in her eyes that tells Bond she might well be serious, and he shifts onto his side, then begins to caress her body, occasionally bestowing kisses as well as touches, until she's vibrating with desire, and he feels he might explode.

"You are a very bad man," she tells him huskily, and he nods solemnly. She sighs, then says, "I shall save your punishment for a later date." Before he can respond she tugs at him and he shifts his body over hers, and as she lifts her hips towards him, he guides his cock back inside her again. 

They both moan softly when he sinks deep into her, then he ducks his head to press light kisses across her face and down her throat, then back again as he thrusts slowly and steadily in and out of her slick heat. It is less a fuck, and more a making love, he thinks, but he keeps that thought to himself as he's not sure how Olivia would react to that idea. Whatever this is between them now, it's not just about sex, of that much he's certain. 

As he brings her to another climax, James thanks the fate that saw him wind up in a prison cell two days ago – if it hadn't been for that, he and Olivia would not be in this position. The fact that Hanson's been dealt with is just a bonus as far as he's concerned.

"Come on, James," she whispers against his ear. "Come for me, James." And with a soft cry of her name, he climaxes.


End file.
